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The Fall of Genectel - Sacrifice
03/02/2011
Aughraysiah’s lip quivered as she stood before the portal that would finally make her a true magician. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whispered to herself as she searched the seats above her for the faces of her parents. As much as she was worried about pleasing them, having them with her also gave her strength, despite the weight of their expectations. Cautiously, and with all the dignity she had been taught to have, Aughraysiah stepped through the portal, closing her eyes as she made the short journey from being a princess with a dream to being a student with a path.
“This is strange,” she thought as she ended her momentary pilgrimage. Her hand held a horrifically familiar object, the weight of which she had only experienced 2 days prior. Rather than the usual applause, the auditorium echoed with the all encompassing silence of a shocked crowd. “No, no, no, no, please!” Aughraysiah muttered frantically. She refused to open her eyes and confirm what she already knew. She was not in a magician’s uniform.
For the first time in ages, Aughraysiah had no idea what to do. She just stood on the exit side of the portal with her head down and her eyes closed. Her chest squeezed as she lost control of her senses. Then the whispers began. The words of random people in the crowd floated to her ears in a cacophonic song of disappointment, disbelief, and pity.
“What is she doing?”
“Didn’t everyone say she was going to be a magician?”
“A Warrior my ass! Our kingdom is doomed!”
“Hah! Look at her freeze up! Isn’t the crown princess supposed to be constantly composed?”
“Don’t laugh! The poor girl is probably having the shock of her life.”
“She’s not even pretty enough for us to feel sorry for her.”
“Breathe Sissy! You’re okay. I can’t come get you, but you’re okay! Look at me! I’m here!”
Aughraysiah opened her eyes. Chandillia was across the room from her, smiling at her as if she’d just done something amazing. Suddenly, Aughraysiah’s little brother, Vimor II, was screaming from the stands,
“Aughy! Do the thing!”
Aughraysiah knew exactly what he was talking about. She would use magic to make light reflect off his sword in different colors when he’d had a bad day at swordsmanship practice to cheer him up.
People were watching her expectantly. Everyone had heard little Vim’s outburst. She smiled. Pointing her sword to the ceiling, Aughraysiah pulled on the magic that still coursed through her body in spite of the portal’s decision. Green, red, blue, yellow, purple, and white light shot from the tip of the sword’s tip. It was reflected back onto Aughraysiah by the brass and spread across the whole room from her body, drowning everyone’s doubts and opinions in the beautiful distraction of her rainbow-colored sea. The whispering became cheering. Her body burned with the heat of her own magic. This was more than she had ever done for her little brother and it was taking its toll.
“Let it burn,” she whispered as the heat vaporized the tears she had failed to keep from falling. “This is the last time I will be using magic anyway. It is an appropriate sacrifice.”
“Don’t be so dramatic Sissy.”
Chandillia’s voice had somehow reached her through the noise of the awed spectators.
“Magic will always be yours.”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Doorim - 31/03/2011
The three silver-skinned boys stared at their mother in unsuspecting confusion. Their mouths were gagged, so they couldn’t ask her any questions. They were happy that she had drawn stars on the floor just for them; but why did they each have to lie down on one? Why did she strap them to the floor? Why couldn’t they talk?
The oldest of the boys, an 8 year old with purple streaks in hair as silver as his skin, began to suspect something was not right with what his mother was doing. His big brother, Dolores, was not tied up like the rest of them. Rather, Dolores was wretching into a chipped bowl in the corner of the room furthest from his brothers. When the heaving subsided, Dolores would look at his brothers, tears streaming down his face. Eventually, he would turn his back to them, emptying the contents of his stomach into his chipped bowl again.
Turning away from the evidence of Dolores’s uncharacteristically weak stomach, the boy glanced about the familiar room. It was his mother’s. He had seen the bare and cracked wooden walls, the lifting floor boards, and the caving ceiling at least fifty times. At least, that was what he thought as his eyes refocused on his mother. She was whispering something and slowly approaching him and his younger brothers.
Her eyes were wide, like those of the rats he and his brothers had trapped in their home before. The rats always looked so scared just before they died. He never felt sorry for them. Suddenly, he saw a flash of light on his mother’s right. She was soon above the three of them holding a rusted dagger he had never seen before. The handle was missing and the spots of the rust covering the blade made it seem to be riddled with holes in the dimly lit room.
His stomach turned to stone as he finally understood the whispers coming from his mother’s lips: “May the blood of my sacrifice grant me the power of the moon.” She had chanted those same words while killing rabbits over chalk stars drawn on the cobblestone.
He began struggling against his bindings as his mother crossed over him and knelt before the youngest brother on the floor. He had fallen asleep while waiting for his mother so they could play with the stars. The four-year-old never stirred, not when his mother raised the dagger above him. Not as his two other brothers began struggling against their bonds with tears in their eyes, not when Dolores began screaming in his odorous corner. Only when the dagger had pierced his chest did his eyes fly open briefly, closing again of their own accord as the life left his body. He never made a sound.
© River R.
Aughraysiah’s lip quivered as she stood before the portal that would finally make her a true magician. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whispered to herself as she searched the seats above her for the faces of her parents. As much as she was worried about pleasing them, having them with her also gave her strength, despite the weight of their expectations. Cautiously, and with all the dignity she had been taught to have, Aughraysiah stepped through the portal, closing her eyes as she made the short journey from being a princess with a dream to being a student with a path.
“This is strange,” she thought as she ended her momentary pilgrimage. Her hand held a horrifically familiar object, the weight of which she had only experienced 2 days prior. Rather than the usual applause, the auditorium echoed with the all encompassing silence of a shocked crowd. “No, no, no, no, please!” Aughraysiah muttered frantically. She refused to open her eyes and confirm what she already knew. She was not in a magician’s uniform.
For the first time in ages, Aughraysiah had no idea what to do. She just stood on the exit side of the portal with her head down and her eyes closed. Her chest squeezed as she lost control of her senses. Then the whispers began. The words of random people in the crowd floated to her ears in a cacophonic song of disappointment, disbelief, and pity.
“What is she doing?”
“Didn’t everyone say she was going to be a magician?”
“A Warrior my ass! Our kingdom is doomed!”
“Hah! Look at her freeze up! Isn’t the crown princess supposed to be constantly composed?”
“Don’t laugh! The poor girl is probably having the shock of her life.”
“She’s not even pretty enough for us to feel sorry for her.”
“Breathe Sissy! You’re okay. I can’t come get you, but you’re okay! Look at me! I’m here!”
Aughraysiah opened her eyes. Chandillia was across the room from her, smiling at her as if she’d just done something amazing. Suddenly, Aughraysiah’s little brother, Vimor II, was screaming from the stands,
“Aughy! Do the thing!”
Aughraysiah knew exactly what he was talking about. She would use magic to make light reflect off his sword in different colors when he’d had a bad day at swordsmanship practice to cheer him up.
People were watching her expectantly. Everyone had heard little Vim’s outburst. She smiled. Pointing her sword to the ceiling, Aughraysiah pulled on the magic that still coursed through her body in spite of the portal’s decision. Green, red, blue, yellow, purple, and white light shot from the tip of the sword’s tip. It was reflected back onto Aughraysiah by the brass and spread across the whole room from her body, drowning everyone’s doubts and opinions in the beautiful distraction of her rainbow-colored sea. The whispering became cheering. Her body burned with the heat of her own magic. This was more than she had ever done for her little brother and it was taking its toll.
“Let it burn,” she whispered as the heat vaporized the tears she had failed to keep from falling. “This is the last time I will be using magic anyway. It is an appropriate sacrifice.”
“Don’t be so dramatic Sissy.”
Chandillia’s voice had somehow reached her through the noise of the awed spectators.
“Magic will always be yours.”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Doorim - 31/03/2011
The three silver-skinned boys stared at their mother in unsuspecting confusion. Their mouths were gagged, so they couldn’t ask her any questions. They were happy that she had drawn stars on the floor just for them; but why did they each have to lie down on one? Why did she strap them to the floor? Why couldn’t they talk?
The oldest of the boys, an 8 year old with purple streaks in hair as silver as his skin, began to suspect something was not right with what his mother was doing. His big brother, Dolores, was not tied up like the rest of them. Rather, Dolores was wretching into a chipped bowl in the corner of the room furthest from his brothers. When the heaving subsided, Dolores would look at his brothers, tears streaming down his face. Eventually, he would turn his back to them, emptying the contents of his stomach into his chipped bowl again.
Turning away from the evidence of Dolores’s uncharacteristically weak stomach, the boy glanced about the familiar room. It was his mother’s. He had seen the bare and cracked wooden walls, the lifting floor boards, and the caving ceiling at least fifty times. At least, that was what he thought as his eyes refocused on his mother. She was whispering something and slowly approaching him and his younger brothers.
Her eyes were wide, like those of the rats he and his brothers had trapped in their home before. The rats always looked so scared just before they died. He never felt sorry for them. Suddenly, he saw a flash of light on his mother’s right. She was soon above the three of them holding a rusted dagger he had never seen before. The handle was missing and the spots of the rust covering the blade made it seem to be riddled with holes in the dimly lit room.
His stomach turned to stone as he finally understood the whispers coming from his mother’s lips: “May the blood of my sacrifice grant me the power of the moon.” She had chanted those same words while killing rabbits over chalk stars drawn on the cobblestone.
He began struggling against his bindings as his mother crossed over him and knelt before the youngest brother on the floor. He had fallen asleep while waiting for his mother so they could play with the stars. The four-year-old never stirred, not when his mother raised the dagger above him. Not as his two other brothers began struggling against their bonds with tears in their eyes, not when Dolores began screaming in his odorous corner. Only when the dagger had pierced his chest did his eyes fly open briefly, closing again of their own accord as the life left his body. He never made a sound.
© River R.
